Early summer on the marsh is maybe the best time to explore the nether regions. So a few of us skipped work and did just that.
The water has dropped and the vegetation hasn’t fully grown. In a month’s time it will be much harder to explore.
Here’s their report from the field:
There is, within human beings, a need to explore. Erik the Red looked west across the ocean from the Norwegian coast and decided to find out what was out there. Our group of 9 Marshians looked west from Footpath 6 and thought exactly the same thing.
So, on Friday May 15th, our intrepid little band set off. Unfortunately, we had to lose some folks right at the start, as they had to go to work.
They waved us off at our departure point from the footpath and as they’d been that way before gave us some directions to a small bridge, then that was it.
Like Bilbo and the dwarves entering Mirkwood without Gandalf, we were on our own.
But what a place to get lost in! From Footpath 6 right up to the railway line in the west is a stretch of land that must rarely be traversed by humans. The grass was long and we had to stamp down a path in parts as we made our way through the terrain.
And, in the absence of human presence, wildlife had just been getting on with things. I saw a type of spider I’d never seen before with a long, slender, bottle-shaped body probably about an inch long. It had made its web suspended between two tall blades of grass, scarcely imagining it would ever be crouched over and gaped at by our little troop.
As we were edging westward, scouring earth and sky for any wonders, Liz shouted to us from a little distance back. Then came a special moment for me; she had seen a cuckoo and I was about to get my first ever sighting of one.
Sure enough, when all 7 of us were assembled at the spot where Liz had called from, there it was, perched at the top of a very spindly tree. From the distance we were, it was not the most impressive sight admittedly. One of the Pauls even posited that it might be a pigeon pretending to be a cuckoo, finally delivering a tiny touch of karma after all these years.
After careful consideration of this theory though, we concluded it was a cuckoo, and we hadn’t made a monumental discovery. The giveaway for me, from that distance, was its tail. If you ever find yourself attending an opera on a hot night, a cuckoo tail would be a fine thing to fan yourself with.
On we went, until we came to a fairly substantial channel of water flowing right across our path.
Phil, one of the Pauls and I, tested its depth with our wellies but honestly, at that point we were probably wishing we’d paid a bit more attention to the directions we’d been given to get to the bridge.
We were just rolling into the suburbs of despondency when, from some bushes to our north, a head appeared. A Marshian was watching us Gandalf-esque. He directed us to the spot on the channel where the bridge was located then he was gone.
After that, we were on our way. It was fascinating to see how the southwestern part of the marsh runs up against the Kennet; like adding another piece to the jigsaw of my mental map.
Not far from where we’d crossed the channel, I came across some spiders. This time, they were anything but slender. They scuttled around in the long grass with bodies like fat, silver little balls, probably about the same diameter as a penny piece. I didn’t see any webs. My assumption is they live in a colony, hunting in the undergrowth.
Still, we pressed on. After another few hundred yards we came upon a beautiful yet fairly mournful site. Within a little copse which presumably delineated some fields when this was agricultural land, a willow, once mighty, had fallen on its side. Its trunk was hollowed out, and it would probably be a great habitat for beetles. When crouching, one could move a fair way inside of the trunk. Outside, at the trunks former base, the roots which once reached into the ground flailed in the air.
It was near this fairly reflective spot that we stopped for a quick sip of Ribena, water, or tea, depending on individual preference. Under the eaves of a giant tree which was still standing, and by a rusting old cattle trough and a coil of barbed wire, we plotted our next move.
It was Jo’s argument which prevailed. We could have moved due north and made straight for the cottage beside the railway line, but we are Marshians! Our mission was to explore and to do so boldly. So, we pushed further west, right up to the railway line. We were starting to see bits of the terrain which were more familiar to us Marshians once again. Kaz even found some Himalayan balsam she’d picked last year. She’d left it hanging over the fence marking the edge of the railway line and it had hardened and dried to something which was actually quite tough and fibrous. If someone knew what they were doing, they could probably make some decent clothes out of that.
I, however, have never to this day been accused of knowing what I am doing. So we moved on. There were so many beautiful insects out in the fields. One of the Pauls got some gorgeous photos of Banded and Beautiful Demoiselles and Phil helped identify them. I never knew the males and females were different colours.
I also saw an insect I don’t know the name of. It was a vivid turquoise, sky blue colour and it resembled a mini chinook with the way it hovered in the air. It was probably about an inch and a half long. We came across all manner of wonders as we pushed towards our journey’s end and a much needed sit down and an apple on a little hillock overlooking the cottage beside the railway line.
After our vittles, Kaz and Jo departed. Liz, Paul and I marched southwards along the western edge of the train track to meet the Kennet. At that sweet river’s edge, our fellowship broke up. Liz and Phil headed back up towards Fobney Lock. The two Pauls and I went to The Cunning Man for a pint in the sunshine.
Rural Reading 